


In Other Words

by Sagittae



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, More characters to be added, i dont know where im going with this fic but i already somehow have the ending planned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-26
Updated: 2014-11-26
Packaged: 2018-02-27 02:25:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2675453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sagittae/pseuds/Sagittae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lieutenant Abbie Mills has taken a six month break from police work and the busy life of New York to return home to Sleepy Hollow in order to be with her family. In desperate need for employment and wanting to quench her curiosity, Abbie takes a job at the local radio station. However, nothing could have ever prepared her for meeting a man like Ichabod Crane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Other Words

**Author's Note:**

> Yay! My first Sleepy Hollow fic! It was bound to happen at some point...
> 
> I honestly don't know where this came from. I was just writing another fic of mine when I thought, "hey, wouldn't it be cool to see Ichabod and Abbie as co-workers in a radio station..." Completely random. I'm experimenting a bit with the first chapters, so any constructive critisism is welcomed. Let me know if I should change their voices or anything of the sort. Anywho, I hope you enjoy this first chapter!
> 
> Note: I do not own Sleepy Hollow, 93.9, or any of the songs mentioned in this chapter.

When Abbie set off to find a job, she didn’t expect to find herself in front of an old, brick building with an ancient sign dangling from a metal rod that read: _Classical Radio 93.9 FM_. With an incredulously raised brow, she glanced back down at her phone, checking and double checking that she had gone to the right address. _This_ was supposed to be the “cool radio host gig” Jenny kept going on about?

 _Hell_ no.

First of all, the brownstone-styled office was _dull_. Its dust covered windows had pale, brown borders surrounding them with paint chipping off the ledges here and there, leaving sickly-looking white patches everywhere. The bricks were stained with flecks of white, which she could only assume was pigeon crap. Thick railings that led up to the vintage wooden door were stained a greenish hue from the moss and mold that had grown on the exterior of the concrete. A rusted, black gate blocked off the stairs – or at least – what she _thought_ to be a gate. The whole thing was covered in vines and unkempt foliage, as if they were trying to grow a damn jungle on their front porch.

To put it mildly, the place was a mess and Abbie was _not_ impressed.

It had only been a week since she last talked to her sister at a local diner in Sleepy Hollow ( _Maddy’s Diner_ , to be specific. Before she had left town, there wasn’t a week that went by where Abbie _didn’t_ stop in to grab a slice of their apple pie). Abbie had been in New York prior to that moment, living in the city while working as a police lieutenant for the NYPD. However, when she received a call from her sister about their mother’s declining mental state; she had a heavy decision to make.

When Abbie had stayed in Sleepy Hollow, she and her sister had gotten close to the sheriff, August Corbin. He became a likable father figure for them both, filling the absence of their deadbeat dad and supporting them when their mother’s health took a turn for the worse. He had even inspired Abbie to become a part of the local law enforcement instead of pursuing her previous ambition to become a musician. So, when her partner, Corbin, was killed in action, it was hard for her to get up every day and walk into the same office he once stood. And the day after his death, she took one step into the precinct before coming to an obvious realization.

There was no way that she could stay there.

So, at the age of twenty-two, she transferred to New York, some place not too far away from Sleepy Hollow, close enough to where she could visit. But after hearing Jenny’s voice when speaking about their mother…

“ _It’s bad, Abbie. She’s never been like this_.”

After a few long hours of thinking, she took a six month leave, cramming all of her overtime, sick days, and vacation weeks into one request. The only problem was that she couldn’t go back to the Westchester County PD, even if she forced herself to. She wouldn’t. However, she figured that she would work something out in terms of income later. She was resourceful like that. And from there, she grabbed what she needed and rushed right back home to Sleepy Hollow without another thought.

Now, returning to her home town nine years later, she resided in a small apartment on the edge of Tarrytown, not too far away from Tarrytown Psychiatric Hospital, where Mama was being treated. It was small, quaint, and affordable. Because while she had a good amount of money from being an officer in New York, she wasn’t going to be able to provide for herself _and_ still help pay her mother’s hospital bills with her non-existent current income.

Thus, when Jenny told her that a position at one of the (few) local radio stations had opened up, Abbie figured: Why not? She had always loved music, especially when she was younger. Perhaps it would be interesting to try and explore that a bit more.

Of course, she hadn’t been expecting a run-down apartment building to be her new potential work place, but she was sure she could find some way to manage. Music was music, after all.

Taking a breath, Abbie readjusted her over-the-shoulder bag, pushed open the creaky gate, and stepped up to the door. After clearing her throat, she pounds her knuckles against the wood three times. _Bump, bump, bump!_

“Hello? I had a job interview scheduled with Frank Irving?” She called out, letting her hands rest in her back pockets while she waited for some kind of reply. Her fist knocked against the door again. “Anyone here?”

And she knew there was.

Behind the door she could hear a soft melody playing -- what was it? “ _Canon in D_ ”? Or some other light tune like that – she didn’t know. She thought classical music was great and all, but being able to differentiate Bach from Mozart wasn’t exactly her forte. She was always a softer, jazzier kind of girl. But this Frank Irving guy didn’t need to know that. Besides, how hard could it be to play a few tracks of Beethoven a day? It should be an easy job, probably even boring.

But she wasn’t going to get anything done, much less get the _job_ , by just standing outside of the building looking like some weird lurker. Abbie’s hand went to the door and she twisted the knob slowly, only slightly surprised that it was unlocked. After all, Sleepy Hollow wasn’t exactly the most criminally active town in the world.

Peeking inside, she found herself looking at an open room with a small glass coffee table and a few cushioned armchairs around it. She didn’t really see it as intruding, so she stepped into the establishment, not too guilty about going inside unannounced. She _did_ knock.

She pressed the door closed and took a look around, glancing at the paintings on the walls. In the corners of the room there were dark flowers, roses and African violets, ones that blended in well to the dim lighting of the space. There was a strange piney scent that wafted in the area, mixed in with something that could have been a spice of some sort. “Huh…” She found herself mumbling. The whole scene was actually incredibly refreshing.

Abbie whispered to herself, “Not bad…” While the outside may have looked like a disaster, the inside wasn’t too shabby. “Hello? Is there anyone that works here that I can speak to?”

Again, she knew there was.

After learning about the job from Jenny, she had started listening to the station whenever she could. In the car, or when she was doing busy work at home, she tried to always have it on. And she _always_ heard a man on the air. His voice was accented, British, she figured after hearing it for the fourth or fifth time. He constantly kept a pleasant tone, announcing the next songs or delving into the background of each piece. It didn’t take long for Abbie to decide that she enjoyed listening to the man speak.

(Even if he did seem to ramble a bit. Though, Abbie found that a bit amusing and slightly endearing.)

(But what the hell was she doing thinking about some guy like that, one that she didn’t even know, for that matter?)

With a frustrated sigh, she sat down on the only couch in the room, almost wincing as she heard and felt the leather stretch at her sudden weight. While shaking her head slightly she took out her phone so that she could text Jenny about her so-called “friend with connections”.

_Abbie: I’m at the place and I already think this Irving guy is an asshole._

There was a pause in the conversation as three dots appeared on the screen, indicating that Jenny was typing up a reply. A few seconds later a white bubble with speech appeared under her text.

_Jenny: Who? Frank? He’s not there?_

_Abbie: No._

_Jenny: Okay._

_Jenny: I’ll give him a call._

Abbie finished by sending her sister a simple, “ _Thanks_ ,” and closed the app, deciding then to check up on the news and happenings in New York. She wasn’t about to brag or anything, but she _was_ one of their higher ranking officers. All she wanted was to check out how they were doing without her, that’s all.

She tapped on the internet safari symbol, waiting for the page to load when suddenly, a voice spoke. That voice. _His_ voice. “Pardon me,” and even though she had heard the British lilt before, the abrupt greeting scared the shit out of her.

So, when she jumped a good couple of inches off the seat with a yelp, her cheeks instantly began to burn. “Oh, Jesus…” She let out a breathy sigh, trying to calm her rapid heartbeat.

Though, she wasn’t entirely sure she was going to be able to do that.

The man standing to the side of her was _stunning_. His wavy brown locks framed the sides of his face, the length just a few inches above his shoulders. A moderate amount of stubble was growing under his nose, reaching down to his chin. Curious, vibrant eyes stared at her with the brightest shade of blue she had ever seen. And _Christ_ – he was _huge!_ Not so much in width, but his figure was unbelievably lengthy. Then again, almost everyone she knew was taller than her, but still; the guy had to stand at _least_ a whole foot above her.

Wrap that all together and there was no denying he was gorgeous.

 _Dammit_.

“Sorry if I startled you, miss,” First, there was the accent, but then he talked like _that_ , too? “I was not aware of your presence; forgive me.”

 _Yeah, this is weird._ “Don’t worry about it; you caught me off guard, that’s all.”

(And it’s strange that he did.)

(She’s a detective. A trained officer.)

(It had been the first time in a long time that anyone had ever managed to sneak up on her.)

The man dipped his head slightly, “Again, I’m terribly sorry, Miss…?” He let his open-ended question drift off.

“Mills. Abbie Mills,” she finished for him.

“Miss Mills,” He repeated, as if trying out the taste of the words. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’m Ichabod Crane. Is it forward of me to inquire as to why you are here?” Folding his hands behind his back, he waited for a reply, but all she could do was stare at him.

Who the hell _was_ this guy? Ichabod Crane? She’s pretty sure she’s never even _heard_ of that combination of letters in a name like that before. And how is he able to sound like he walked right out of a Jane Austen book with such a calm, straight face? Was this an act? Maybe Jenny was messing with her, getting this guy to come freak her out… However, judging by the patient stare _Ichabod_ was still giving her, she was going to assume that the man was being fully and completely serious.

“Okay, um… Mr. Crane,” she tried. Her nose immediately wrinkled at the way the title sounded. Though, she figured whatever she decided to call him would seem strange either way. “It’d actually be pretty strange if you _didn’t_ ask me why I’m here, so, no. You’re not being forward. I’m just here to see Frank Irving. I’m trying to get a job here, and my sister supposedly knows the guy. ”

Realization sparked in Ichabod’s eyes, “Ah, of course. I should have known. You’re Miss Jenny’s sister. She likes to stop by occasionally to see Mr. Irving. She speaks about you quite frequently.”

At this new information, her eyebrows rose slightly. So, Jenny had a thing with her potential boss? That could either end very poorly or extremely well… She really hoped that it was the latter, for her sister’s sake. _But there’s no way I’m going to let this go_ , Abbie thought with a slight grin to herself. “Does she now? I can only hope she says good things… Though, knowing her that’s probably wishful thinking, hm?” She sends him a small smile, to which he returns with a sheepish one.

“Perhaps.” Is all he says at first, then, after checking his watch, he proposes, “Well, Miss Mills, if you’d like I can show you the radio booth. “ _In the Hall of the Mountain King_ ” is just about to end and I’m required to relay the next song to the listeners. I’ll just be a moment, but you’re welcome to follow.”

Abbie held up her hands a bit, “Hey, don’t let me stop you from doing your job. I’ll just see how it’s done.” Ichabod smiled and nodded at her before stepping to the side and gesturing for her to go forward, dramatically sweeping his hands to the side with a cheeky grin. She rolled her eyes at his antics, but not without letting a wide smirk spread across her lips.   

( _Yeah, definitely endearing_.)

The two of them headed to the back of the building, walking down a narrow hallway until they met a partially ajar door with a small metal plaque on it that read, “Recording Room”. Abbie stepped inside, taking a look around while Ichabod moved around her to get to the large table in the center of the room. Four microphones sat on the desk, all with small pop filters in front of them. Comfortable-looking, padded armchairs were positioned around the table and papers, books, and CD cases were neatly stacked on the surface. In the corner of the room, there was a bright red sign that was blinking on and off: ON AIR.

The blinking stopped and now the letters shone red completely as she heard Ichabod begin to speak, going on about the next song, “ _Minuet in E Major_ ” and how it was first written in 1771 by Luigi Boccherini. Turning away from her host, she walked over to the small sofa on the side of the room and plopped down on it, observing Crane from the comfort of the couch cushions. But while he drawled on about how Boccherini published the piece in 1775, she took another look around the room, taking note of the water and coffee station leaning on the back wall with a small fridge beneath the counter. There was also a small bookshelf and a decent sized, electric keyboard near it.

Then, instantly, she was gone. Standing from her seat as if in a trance, her legs brought her to the front of the electric piano. Her fingers lightly danced on top of the keys, mimicking the notes to, “ _You Are My Sunshine_ ”. It was an easy song to play, and one that Mama used to always sing to her and Jenny as children. To that day, it was still one of Abbie’s favorite songs to play (as it was one of the few she had memorized by heart). And soon, she found herself humming the tune to the melody, lightly tapping the keys as if she were actually playing.

It had been a while since Abbie had even touched a piano, let alone _played_ one. With work and the recent events in her life, she just hadn’t had the time. Plus, now that she was in Sleepy Hollow, there was no way that she could fit her grand piano into her small, little apartment that she called her current living space. So, yeah, she wasn’t used to playing on keyboards, but it was better than nothing.

She managed to make it through miming the whole song before a soft voice broke the steady silence in the room that she had not been aware of. “You play?”

Abbie gasped lightly, her head whipping to the side only to see Ichabod’s bright gaze rested on her. In the wake of the moment, she playfully swiped at his arm, “Okay, you’re going to have to stop doing that, or else one of us here is going to end up with a black eye. I can already tell you; it’s _not_ going to be me.”

“Apologies,” Crane said ruefully, though, his lips curled upwards in a way that told her that he wasn’t sorry at all. “I didn’t want to interrupt what appeared to be a very inspiring moment for you.”

She sighed, “No inspiration here. Trust me, you didn’t keep me from any big epiphany or anything... It's nice to know that this place has a piano, though. Honestly, I haven’t played for a while.” Despite knowing that no sound would come from the instrument, Abbie pressed down on a few keys, just liking the feeling it gave the tips of her fingers.

“Pity…” Ichabod frowns a bit at the board before turning to her with a smile. “You seem like a natural. I would love to hear you perform someday, Miss Mills.” And it was at that exact moment that Ichabod Crane, standing with his hands behind his back and a charming smile directed her way, made her heart squirm and her jaw drop.

How was it that he could just casually compliment her without making it sound douchey or awkward?

By the time Abbie finally brought herself around to reply, it felt as though centuries had passed. “Yeah, well, if I get the job maybe you can,” she shrugged in an attempt at nonchalance.

“That sounds lovely,” he says genuinely.

And suddenly, Abbie can’t control the way the corners of her lips are curving, totally and completely without her consent. She finds that she’s smiling right back at him, because even though she had only known the guy for less than an hour, playing the piano for a complete stranger seemed like the best time in the world.


End file.
